Текст книги "The Electrician's Code: An Evans and Blackwell Mystery"

Автор книги: Clarissa Draper

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Chapter Eight

The body was hoisted into the bus by ten. Theo stood in the drive as the workers wrapped up their various assignments. The pathologist sang a chipper tune. For them, the case was well underway, but for him, it was only the beginning.

“What do you have for me?” Theo asked. “Please tell me everything I need to know to solve this case.”

“Oh, and ruin your fun? I think not.” Dr. Waynton leaned in, almost touching Theo’s cheek with his nose. “However, I will be happy to tell you what I know. First of all: our man has one leg. That, my friends, did not happen this morning. Also, he was stabbed once in the chest. That did happen this morning, and it was fatal. I would imagine he died almost instantly. I see no other marks or wounds other than a small one on the back of the head, which he most likely received when he fell backwards. As far as I can tell, he was not beat up or anything. That is my point.”

“Time of death?” Theo asked.

“Around seven this morning give or take a half hour or so. For now, that’s all I have for you. However, after the postmortem is complete, I should be able to tell you more.” Waynton made his way to his car, but stopped. “Uh, Blackwell, I forgot. There is something else. Talk to SOCO. I bagged a note found in our victim’s robe pocket. We couldn’t understand what it meant but it might be key to the case.”

“Thank you.”

Immediately, Theo headed off in the direction of the SOCO van. Four or five men were loading totes of supplies and evidence. A young man in a blue jumpsuit, clearly SOCO, turned and gave Theo a nod.

“You’re here about the note,” the man said and held out his hand. “Woolsey, Ryan Woolsey.” He removed his latex glove and grabbed Theo’s hand to shake it heartily. From a box in the bus, he retrieved a clear bag. Inside was a small nicely cut and laminated square piece of paper.

Theo looked down at the note: Why Run Backward You’ll Vomit.

“That’s it?” Theo asked. He turned the note over a few times as if the movement might reveal more words. “What does it mean?”

“I’ve asked everyone on the scene if they’ve heard this expression and it’s a no. Sorry. Perhaps we’ll find a key to the note in the papers we took from his house.”

“All right. Anything else?”

“We have collected a fair bit but it may not all be relevant. It really is hard to say at this point. No reliable footprints and we’re not sure if there were any fingerprints on the knife, we still have to clean it up a bit. That will all take time.”

Typical. There was a flurry of updates with absolutely nothing updated. He wasn’t closer to finding a motive to this senseless homicide. With all the information he gathered, all he had was that some person walked up to an old man in the street early in the morning and stabbed him then disappeared into thin air.

No one just stabs a person, not in this neighborhood, not like this. He was missing something and he really hoped that the upstairs flat contained a wealth of information he could use. Sadly, he doubted it. But, random, senseless violence was not what he wanted to write down in the report. That would be running backward and why would he want to run backward? He’d vomit.

“Boss,” Dorland yelled behind him. “Found them.” When Theo turned, Dorland jangled the keys in front of his face.

“Wonderful.” He walked up to Dorland and handed him the note. Dorland read it a few times just to make sure he had read it right and shrugged his shoulders.

“Doctor’s note?” Dorland hazarded a guess.

“Obviously,” Theo said, “and with such wise advice, it is only natural one would want to laminate it and keep it in their pocket in case a one-legged man would have the desire. Then he could easily pull out the note and read it and remember, that not only could he not run forward without vomiting, that yes, he could also not run backward without vomiting either. It’s clear to me why you’re a detective.”

“Funny. Shall we?” Dorland rattled the key in front of Theo’s face again.

“Ladies first,” Theo replied.

“So did SOCO or the other officers find anything? Any other witnesses?”

“A menagerie of responses from a menagerie of people,” Theo replied. “One, in a group of women, insists she saw a large scary man walk by her house but didn’t know when. That started the group on a tirade of similar stories, each thinking they saw the man but each time the story became a bit scarier and a bit more far-fetched. One man thought it was a woman; two others didn’t know whom it was that lived in the house. And all the children interviewed apparently thought the one-legged man was creepy.”

Theo followed Dorland into the front hall, where there was a door leading upstairs to the first floor. Theo pushed the key in and turned the handle. The door opened easily, and the musky smell of a flat that hadn’t been occupied, hit them immediately. Dorland took the stairs two at a time.

Poking his head around the door frame, Dorland looked back at Theo, and said, “I think you’re going to find this interesting.”

“Does it answer some of our questions?” No reply. Theo bounded up the stairs after him. The entire first floor was one room with a sink and some cupboards in one corner. The room obviously belonged to the deceased. It was incredibly neat. More paintings lined the walls, the same as on the main floor, and one table filled the length of the room. Laid out in ten separate bins were small colored tiles: white, black, red, purple, brown, blue, green, yellow, orange, and gray. Bags of white mortar with a thick layer of dust lay neatly piled below the table.

“This is obviously where he does his artistic carpentry.” Theo ran his fingers through a tray of red half-inch tiles. “He really is an odd person. One-legged artist. I wonder what will happen to all his art?”

“Perhaps it is stated in his will. He may have had relatives.”

“Do you think they’re worth something?”

“This art?” Dorland laughed. “Although you never know. There are artists I do not like and they make money. Some may actually like what this artist had to offer. Who can say?”

“We may have to do some further digging to find the answer.”

The nurse was waiting at the bottom of the stairs when they descended. “Was there anything interesting up there?” she asked. “I’ve always wanted to see what he kept up there.”

“That was his studio, where he created his art. We are looking for any reason he might have been killed this morning. I know you told us that he had no enemies, but did he ever disclose to you what his Last Will and Testament contained or anything that may have been on his mind lately?”

“No, but I have only been with him for about four months. I try with all my patients to find out as much as I can about their family or past. It makes spending the day with them easier, but Mr. Tipring, he was quiet. Never spoke about his family or friends, ever. No, that is not true. When I asked about the earrings he told me they belonged to his mother. How fond he must have been of her. I’ve never known a man to keep earrings like that. But then again, I’ve never known a man to keep art like that.”

Ignoring her question, Theo went on, “What about a solicitor? Did he have a solicitor or anyone that handled his personal matters?”

“I don’t know,” the nurse answered in barely a whisper. “Maybe his last nurse could tell you more.”

“Do you know her name?”

“No, but she may have worked at the same agency I work for. A placement agency that matches home care needs with patients. He may have chosen the same agency for his last nurse. I don’t know.” She reached into her purse and handed them a very old card crumpled up in hundreds of tiny folds until it was almost the consistency of toilet tissue. “You can try ringing them at that number.”

“He did not seem worried to you, nothing unusual over the last couple of days?”

“Nothing. In fact, he seemed happier. I don’t know what it was but he actually seemed cheerier. If he knew today was the day he was going to die, he never showed it, not once. In fact, he was planning a trip, not an extravagant excursion, but he wanted to go to the place where he was born. A trip of about a hundred miles but for one who never leaves his house, quite a conquest. One morning when I arrived, he informed me of his plans. I wonder what could be so important there . . .”

Chapter Nine

By noon, Sophia was ready to strangle someone and she kicked the radiator again. Damn heat, or rather lack of it. Although it wasn’t raining, a nippy wind whistled in from the poorly insulated windows. She buttoned up her double-breasted cardigan and began to pace the dingy East End flat. Either she would die of boredom or freeze to death. She lighted the gas hob for a few minutes but with strict orders not to open the windows, she shut it off for fear she would suffocate.

The music didn’t help either. She spent ten minutes trying to imagine what it would take for the roof to topple down on her. Would it be the ear-splitting electro funk or the karaoke dancer accompaniment? Could she run to the doorway in time? She tried the run—if only to keep herself warm—and managed to get herself sweaty and colder. Though tempted to run upstairs and bang on the door, it was one of Liam’s strict instructions for her to stay in the flat. Someone had to be watching the monitors, though Sophia didn’t quite understand why. It wasn’t like the camera’s didn’t record bloody everything. Some days, she wanted to kill that man.

The other task, which involved scanning the previous night’s footage, only took forty-five minutes to review because the woman only awoke six times during the night. Once for the loo, and the other five to push her cat off her face. As far as Sophia was concerned, the woman in house 412 was the most uninteresting person on the planet . . . or perhaps the second most, after herself. Why the hell was she so important? Perhaps it was Liam’s way to slowly wear her down so that when he finally asked her for dinner, she wouldn’t refuse, not for the hundredth time.

As Sophia continued to debate her existence, Crystal lumbered into the flat and dropped two brown bags of groceries on the kitchen worktop and headed out of the flat again. She returned with a box.

“What did you buy?” Sophia asked.

“Things,” Crystal signed. After stuffing the bags into the small fridge without emptying them, she took the box, laid it at Sophia’s feet, and began rifling through the contents. “What did you do to the floor?”

“I had some fun with masking tape.” She had taped a body outline on the floor, right where the stain on the carpet was. “I imagine the poor soul was shot in the chest.”

Crystal laughed.

Sophia turned her attention back to the box. “What’s this?” Sophia signed. “How much did you spend? I gave you my credit card.” She sat cross-legged on the floor.

“It’s a mobile phone. But, I need it.”

“What for?” asked Sophia.

“To make your life easier, of course.” Crystal tapped her friend on the shoulder and rose to her feet. She took a mobile phone from the box and unwrapped it. She plugged it into the wall and immediately started for her laptop. “You constantly complain that Liam remotely bugs your mobile. Well, I think I’ve found a solution.”

“How will you do that?” Sophia continued to unpack the box which held thin wires, a mini soldering iron, and other micro-electronic parts.

“Coding, my friend, what we do best. By the way, I think you should disable your GPS tracker.”

“I’ve considered that option but I do want people, especially you, to know where I am when in an emergency. And although I don’t want the government—or Liam—to have access to my every conversation, I do take comfort in knowing they can protect me if they know what I’m up to.”

“Then, let me just tweak it a bit.”

“At least you can work. I’m envious, you can’t hear the noise coming from the flat above.”

“Oh, I feel it. Just because I’m deaf doesn’t mean I can’t feel.”

“Just because you’re deaf doesn’t mean you can steal my credit card to buy yourself a new mobile phone. I see you bought two.” Sophia gave Crystal a wink. The first year the two worked together, they carried on a long-running “just because you’re deaf” joke. It had bonded the two women working in a mostly male environment. When they met condescending, chauvinistic attitudes from their male counterparts, they expressed their anger and frustration through sign.

“Has the woman done anything while I was gone?”

“Well, let’s see,” Sophia said, sliding her notepad down off the table and laying it at her feet. “She’s made six cups of tea, peed five cups worth, washed the dishes, made her bed, showered, crocheted a little more on the blanket, watched an episode of Corrie, rolled pennies, and loads of other boring things. I think she knows we’re watching and is torturing us. Now she’s vacuuming the hall carpets.”

Sophia’s mobile phone vibrated on the floor. Crystal picked it up and finger-spelt L-i-a-m before handing it to her co-worker. Sophia was about to put her mobile into her pocket but Crystal waved her hands about.

“Answer it,” she signed. “You might find him to be the most irritating person on planet Earth but he is still your superior.”

Sophia sighed. “Hello, Liam, to what do I owe the honor of hearing your voice?”

“I was wondering if you needed me to bring you two some lunch?” he asked. “Chinese take-away or something.”

“That’s all right, Liam. Crystal has bought us food for our incredibly exciting assignment. You won’t believe what a laugh we’re having.” She related all the suspect’s activities, including trips to the loo and putting the kettle on. If she had to suffer, he might as well be made to hear it.

“I really appreciate that you’re doing this for me.”

She could hear him breathing deeply on the other end of the phone.

Then, he continued, “I know this is not why you signed up for the security service, but with—”

“You owe me, all right?” She cut him off. About once a day he came to her, or rang her up to thank her. Or apologize to her for his asinine remarks. She wasn’t going to let him have the satisfaction this morning. “I have to get back to work.” She rang off.

Crystal stared at her.

“What?” Sophia asked.

“Why are you always so rude with him? He fancies you, you know.”

“I was perfectly civil. Besides, how do you know what I was saying?”

“I can see your face when you talk to him. I know how you’re feeling.”

Sophia sighed. “I don’t want him to get any ideas. Besides, he’s irritating as hell. Almost every day he asks me for coffee or dinner. I feel bad because I just can’t, it’s too soon. Everything . . . I want to leave dating behind for a while. Dating, love, men. The whole lot.”

Crystal just signed, “Men.”

Crystal had her share of bad relationships. She had never married, but raised two boys on her own. Even now that her sons were grown, Sophia had never seen her with any men. She never talked about them.

“Would you like me to make you a sandwich?” Sophia asked, getting up and stretching her legs.

Crystal nodded.

Sophia walked to the fridge and pulled out the two bags and emptied the bread, ham, cheese, various condiments, and paper plates onto the worktop. A large spider crawled out from behind the coffee maker and Sophia threw a piece of bread down on it. “Gross.”

Crystal watched and laughed silently at her.

When Sophia returned with the food, Crystal signed, “Your friend Mr. Blackwell received a new case this morning: a sixty-two-year-old man was stabbed.”

“Oh?” Sophia didn’t want to seem too interested, but she knew Crystal was too clever to fool. “That’s too bad. Why would anyone want to stab an old man? Was he mugged?”

“No, murdered while fetching the paper. Do you want the details?” Crystal pointed at her computer screen.

“Nah, it sounds unexciting. What is she doing now?” Sophia pointed at the monitor. Elaine Smith had moved on from vacuuming to the computer.

“Tweeting.”

“What’s she been tweeting?”

Crystal turned the screen and Sophia read the list, The cat wants out. It’s 10:35 and I’m on my second pot of coffee. I can pay loads for the London look and look like a whore. I should be crying at the airport not watching the bloody airline commercials. The cat is going to scratch my screen door to shreds. Sophia turned to her aide and signed, “Do you think there’s a message somewhere in there?”

“Sure. I see it loud and clear. Something to the effect that she needs a life.”

“There’s no way she does this every day, does she?”

Chapter Ten

The only Tipring found in Maddock’s address book were Henry and Diane Tipring. A phone call revealed that Henry was father of the deceased and Diane his sister. The family lived not far outside of London so Theo and Dorland set an appointment to meet them at one the same afternoon.

Henry and Diane Tipring lived in luxury with gates, gardens, and stables. Theo drove his Jeep up the long gravel drive to an entrance porch held up by four columns. When they rang the large pull bell an older lady opened the door and ushered them into the entrance hall. Theo could imagine young ladies in Empire dresses making their entrance to the ball down the stone staircase with a detailed iron balustrade.

“Diane Tipring?” Theo asked.

“Follow me, please,” the woman said, and led them into a reception room to the right of the hall. An older man sat in a wheelchair by the bay window with a plaid blanket over his lap. His eyes were closed, and he seemed content letting the sun shine upon him.

“Who is it?” the older man asked. “I don’t want any of it, you hear. Don’t you be buying any of their wares. You hear, Diane, do you hear me? Salesmen.”

“It’s the police, Father. They’re here about Maddock.”

“I don’t want to see the doctor.” He lifted the blanket to his chest and frowned a pitiful, childlike frown. “Why can’t they just leave me in peace?”

Diane smiled weakly and gestured for the two officers to have a seat on the antique sofa. Theo sank deep into the cushions. “Daddy’s ninety-two this year. He’s getting a bit cantankerous in his old age.” She sat and flattened her brown wool skirt in front of her. “So what would you like to tell me about Doc?”

Theo was about to reply when the housekeeper entered the room and placed her hands on her hips. Diane asked, “Would you like tea?”

“Um,” Theo started, sitting forward. He didn’t think he would be here long enough for a cup of tea, but after the long drive, he felt like one. “That sounds—”

“Yes,” interrupted Diane, “bring us tea.” She waved the housekeeper away.

“So, you’ve come to tell me Doc has died,” she continued as if she were telling the officers she had bought a car or that she had discovered a new flavor of coffee.

“Has someone contacted you?” asked Dorland.

She shrugged. “Why else would you be here to talk about my brother? How did he die?”

“Someone stabbed him,” Dorland replied.

“I see.” She blinked. After staring at them for a while, she asked, “Well, who did it?”

“We don’t have any idea,” Dorland said.

“We were hoping,” said Theo, “you had information that could help us. Can you think of anyone who might have a motive?”

“A motive?” She sat back against the sofa and put her fist to her mouth. “A motive?”

“Yes, a reason why someone might want to kill him.”

“Yes, I do know what it means, officer. It’s a difficult question to answer. You see, I haven’t seen him in ages, and the last time I saw him, I wanted to kill him.”

“Oh?” said Theo. “When was the last time you saw him?”

“Oh, at least ten years ago. I know it sounds shocking that I would want to kill my brother, but you see, he was such an . . . unusual person. I come from a family of seven children and he was the youngest. In this day and age, the youngest is often spoiled; however, in our household, that didn’t happen. Poor Doc. I suppose I can understand why he was the way he was.”

“What do you mean?”

“My mother really shouldn’t have had any children—she epitomized the word selfish, you see—but, she somehow ended up with seven. The first six turned out well because we were all girls and took care of each other. However, gin and tonic became her best friend by the time Doc, her first boy, came along, and she couldn’t feign caring any more. In short order, he became the property of various young nannies.”

“Why did you want to kill him?”

“Well, I don’t think I really would have killed him, not really. Typical brother and sister angst: we would pull down his trousers and knock him round a bit. In return, he would pull our hair or tattle on us. Silly things really. We gave him a difficult time but eventually he got us all back. We’d find our favorite frocks shredded and hanging from the trees in the garden. Or he’d put coloring in our hand cream. I told him I’d kill him if I ever saw him again because he put itching powder on all my clothes before I had an important business trip to Europe—I had an important interview. I ended up getting the job, but I was so angry. I moved to Spain shortly after and . . .” She shook her head. “We weren’t really close.”

“What about your other sisters? Were any of them close?”

“I don’t think so. Patty married a Canadian and moved to Canada, Carolyn’s in Italy with her husband. My sisters Beatrice and Yvonne live in London, but as far as I know, they don’t have contact with him. And my sister Roberta, she died, ten years back now. Sadly, if anyone knew him, it would be the nannies. He always felt closer to staff than to his family.”

“Do you think he still has contact with them?”

“The staff? No. I don’t remember the name of any of my nannies. And if I did, it would be only their first names. I don’t know where my mother found them. They weren’t much older than we were. Anyway, Doc moved out of the house and down to London when he was seventeen. I think my father kicked him out of the house.”

“Why was that?”

“Possibly because my father expected Doc to take over the family’s steel business. He chose instead to get into trade—an electrician or something like that. It was inevitable though, Doc was determined to become the opposite of whatever my father wanted him to become.”

“Where’s the doctor?” Henry called out. “I will not see the doctor.”

Diane turned to him and yelled, “Dad, the police have come to tell me Maddock is dead.”

Henry didn’t reply.

“Did you know your brother was missing a leg?” asked Theo.

“Yes, I knew.”

“Do you know what happened to it?”

“It happened at work. He was installing wiring and scaffolding gave way. He only sustained a gash in his leg but then the cut got infected and had to be amputated.”

“That’s too bad,” replied Theo.

Diane only shrugged.

“We found some pieces of art in his home, tiled art. Has he always been an artist?” asked Theo.

“Artist?” She laughed. “Not that I’m aware of. All anyone in this house expected of Doc was for him to get a good education and take over the family business.”

“So then, who took over the business when your father stopped working?” Dorland asked. He rose from the sofa and began to peer at the figurines on the mantle place.

“My cousin Earnest. And he actually took the company to new heights, expanded the business. Now the company is international, we have companies using our steel products in Italy, France, and Norway, and of course China.”

“And Doc didn’t feel the company should have come to him?”

“I’m not sure he cared. Honestly, I’m not sure anything really bothered or worried him. He hid his emotions well.” Suddenly, she sat forward. “I have been going through the attic, cleaning it out. There are sixteen rooms in this house and we only occupy two. I was thinking of opening a bed and breakfast. We have some horses and I was thinking of stocking the pond again.”

She looked at them blankly for a moment before she remembered what she wanted to say. “Anyway, I found some albums. There were some photos of Doc, would you like to see them? Yes, come, come.” She stood up and walked from the room.

Theo and Dorland quickly chased after her. In the hall, the housekeeper met them with a tray.

“Take the tea into the library,” Diane instructed her. The housekeeper complied, and Diane led the officers down the hall and into the large dining room. The walls and furniture were a mahogany color and the table sat at least twelve. Dorland stopped by one of the chairs and leaned down to examine a place setting.

“These are very beautiful. They must be very old,” Dorland remarked. He ran his finger across the face of the plate and then rubbed his fingers together. “And there’s no dust.”

“This is a very beautiful dining room,” Theo agreed.

“Yes, my mother loved this room. She once gave grand dinner parties in this room. All us girls couldn’t wait until we were of age and could attend those parties. The dresses we wore.” Diane looked up at the ceiling and pursed her lips together. “Oh yes, those parties.”

“Did Doc ever attend those parties?”

She squinted. “I don’t recall. I know as a child he would sneak into the room and hide under the table. Why? No one knows. He would lift up the women’s dresses or tickle their legs and run out of the room. Eventually my mother had to lock him in his room during parties. We don’t eat in here anymore. It’s just my father and I now. Come, I want to show you those albums.”

The opulent library shelves were filled floor to ceiling with books and priceless antique tomes. Very different from Doc’s drawing room. She motioned them to the Empire chairs that flanked an English Regency table in the center of the room. On the table in front of them lay five cloth-covered albums. She pulled the third album from the pile and slowly flipped through the delicate pages. Theo examined the black and white photographs that covered the black pages beneath.

“How many years ago were these taken?” he asked.

“Oh, I’m not sure. Ages.” She waved aside the question with her hand and instead, she pointed to a large photo that took up a whole page. “This is one of the six girls. We were visiting the seaside, that was. Those swimsuits, look at them. They don’t make them like that anymore.” She continued to flip through the pages. “Ah, here is one of Doc. I believe he was four or five, in school uniform there. As soon as Mother could, she shipped him off to boarding school and fired the nannies. Until holidays, that is. He’d be back for holiday, and to make up for his absence, he wreaked havoc throughout the house. One of my sisters stayed away on holidays because she didn’t want to deal with the tension in the house at that time.”

The housekeeper brought in a tray of tea and laid it on the table. One by one she poured the officers a cup, asking each one about the milk and sugar.

“This is one of Doc deer stalking. Of course, that day all he brought home was a pheasant. He was really good with deer. I think it was the only thing my father liked about Doc—that he came home with meat. My father eventually bought him a few shotguns and gave him a Land Rover. I don’t know how long Doc had that vehicle but, it’s not here so I assume he kept it.”

Theo leaned in closer to have a look. Doc stood on the banks of a marsh land, holding a large bird in one hand and a large gun in the other. He stood with an older man. Could it be his father? Theo placed his finger on the man in the photograph.

“Oh, that’s my uncle, Earnest,” she explained. “Father of my cousin Earnest. Doc really loved my uncle. He worked for the government, you know. I don’t know which branch.”

“Your brother worked for the government?” asked Dorland.

“No my uncle. I don’t know much about him but I remember Doc used to look forward to his visits. My uncle could tell stories, some crazy stories. I’m not sure any were true. Doc had a code, or so he says. He would place square children’s blocks in the window before Uncle Earnest would arrive. One time to spite him, I pushed his blocks off the window sill. Doc got so mad he threw a metal ornament at my head.”

She pointed to a scar on her forehead.

“I know this doesn’t help with the investigation, but, as much as he drove me insane when he was younger, I always felt he was misunderstood. That he wasn’t given the chance. He never received the love he should have, that he was entitled to. I really do hope you catch whoever murdered him.”

“We will do our best. Perhaps you can give us the names and numbers of your sisters in London. We would like them to come in and give a formal identification and perhaps they have had contact with Doc, you never know. Also, do you think any of your staff will have remembered Doc? Are any still with you?”

She shook her head. “Sadly no. We had to let a lot of staff go, so we are down to six. No one has been with us longer than . . .” She counted on four fingers, “twelve years. They wouldn’t know Doc.” She rose. “Now, let me get you those names.”

She went to a desk in the corner of the library and pulled out a leather book. “We should be closer, my sisters and I, but you know how it is. Eventually you lose contact. They marry, have children, and move on with their lives.”

Dorland rose from his seat and again started making his way around the room, examining all the books on the shelves and the art on the walls.

“Is that your mother?” Dorland asked.

“That is.”

The portrait of Mrs. Tipring covered a large panel on the wall. She was stunning and vibrant in a white evening gown. A large red flower sat neatly in her hair above her right ear. What a creature she must have been in person.

“The gown she wore there still hangs in her wardrobe. Doc never tore that one to shreds.”

A short while later, after finishing tea, the officers were headed back on their long trek to London.

“So, what do you think?” Theo asked his partner when they had left the house.

“They’re an odd family. But I suppose the rich are often that way.” Dorland pulled down his visor and checked his teeth. “You’d never suspect from examining his flat that he’d ever come from that family. I wonder if he inherited any money from his parents?”

“I guess his solicitor will be able to tell us that. However, from the way his father took the news of his son’s death, I don’t think there was any love lost between the two. Do you think his sisters had anything to do with his death?” Theo asked.